


The Golden State

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Domestic Violence, Getting Together, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Sam and Dean are still hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: A year after Sam leaves for Stanford, the Reckoning happens. Angels and demons descend to earth and destroy much of the planet in an endless war. Dean survives, living with Bobby in the survivor city of Sioux Falls, but he never forgets his missing little brother. Finally, after the world has stabilised a little, he decides it’s time to undertake the dangerous trip to California and try to find Sam.He finds his little brother in a settlement on the Californian coast, but all is not well with Sam, who is in an abusive relationship with the Boss, the settlement’s shady leader. Dean has to rescue Sam so that they can rebuild their lives in the safety of Sioux Falls, but the Boss is not going to let Sam leave easily. And Dean’s not even sure that Sam wants to leave...Canon divergent from the beginning: in this world, Sam and Dean are the characters we know, and grow up in hunting monsters with John, but are not the vessels.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Golden State](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12711087) by [Bluefire986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluefire986/pseuds/Bluefire986). 



> Written for the Wincest Big Bang 2017
> 
> Thanks to my Artist, [bluefire986](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluefire986/pseuds/Bluefire986) who created such amazing art!
> 
> And my beta [Nisaki](https://nisaki-chan.tumblr.com/), who helped spot all my mistakes!
> 
>  **Note:** It is implied that Sam's relationship is not entirely consensual. There is nothing 'on screen' - but dubious consent/coercion/manipulation is definitely implied. Also please note the tag for domestic abuse/abusive relationship.

 

 

 

It was only because Dean was good with his hands that he’d managed to salvage the little of life he had. When the Reckoning happened, people with mechanical skills, people who could solve problems in the precious few machines they had left working, found themselves at a premium. Dean had always been good at fixing things, making cars run again, but he’d never seen it as anything other than a quick way to make a few bucks in between hunts. Now it made him almost aristocracy.

He spent his long day working on a beat up old chevy truck, trying to get it working again so the ranger teams could go out and try to find supplies. Since the Reckoning, no new parts had been made and, given cars went through a lot more wear and tear now because the roads were so bad, working cars were in short supply. More had been ruined because people, in their desperation, had used the wrong type of gas. The small colony he’d become part of in South Dakota urgently needed this car.

The heat bore down upon him, making his job more unbearable. Of course, aircon units were considered the greatest of luxuries now. He’s sure some people, somewhere, in the other colonies they occasionally hear of, have the supplies to use them, but the Sioux Falls collective is not one of them. And water isn’t exactly plentiful either.

When it’s time to check out for the day, he thinks he almost has it fixed. An hour, maybe two, in the full light tomorrow morning and the team should be able to go out. He whistles, pleased, as he heads back to Bobby’s.

His good mood evaporates as soon as he enters the old house, because he’s immediately faced with the picture of Sam staring down at him. He hasn’t seen Sam since a few years before the Reckoning, when Sam had run off to Stanford to become a college boy and leave the hunting life behind forever. He and Sam had argued after Sam’s epic fight with John, Dean unable to understand why his brother was so determined to leave; and they hadn’t patched things up before everything went south. He has no idea what happened to Sam; there have been rumours California lucked out, that things aren’t as bad there, but there are always those rumours about California, it’s the Golden State. All Dean knows is everything around Sioux Falls is dangerous wasteland, populated in turn by demon and angel armies duking it out over a few miles of turf. He has no reason to think California would be any better.

And yet. The picture of Sam haunts him. Not a day, barely an hour, goes by when he doesn’t think of Sam, about going to find him. His heart aches with it; sometimes his body does too, his limbs physically weary with the weight of his loss. Sam smiles down him, hair tousled and dimples deep, and his eyes hook into Dean’s heart.

Maybe it’s time to go and find his brother.

Dean’s never been stupid, and the Reckoning has made him cannier than ever. He doesn’t rush things, makes careful plans and tells only Bobby.

“So you’re finally going?” the old man says, hands busy at the sink rinsing the vegetables for their dinner. Dean is almost full on veggie now; meat is incredibly scarce. “I never thought you’d hold out this long. Good to know you’re abandoning an old man in need.”

There’s only the tiniest bit of bite in his tone, and Dean knows it’s there to cover any potential emotion. This is Bobby giving Dean his blessing.

“Guess we better make sure you’ve got everything you need.”

Bobby is an invaluable helper. Like Dean, he’s become one of the most important members of their community, his access to spare car parts, general common sense and library of demon warding manuals almost making him their de-facto leader. He and Dean pull the Impala out of storage (its gas-guzzling ways mean that it has always been overlooked -except in emergencies- in favour of more fuel-efficient vehicles, much to Dean’s fury) and load her up with all the supplies they can justify. It’s a long old drive to Stanford through hostile territory, and Dean is going to need all the help he can get. The trunk is soon full of some of their precious easy-cook food, pot noodles, jerky and the like; and loaded down with guns, salt rounds and holy water. He has to hope he doesn’t run into angels; there’s not much he can do against them.

Saying goodbye to Bobby is emotional, however much they try to pretend otherwise. There is no guarantee they’ll ever see eachother again (although Dean will try to persuade Sam to come back here, they’ve got a good thing going, all things considered) and no way to communicate with anyone who is outside of walkie range, short of making a deal with a demon, and that’s _highly_ ill-advised.

“Right, boy. Good luck. Find your brother.”

“See you, old man. Stay safe.”

They stare at each other for a couple of moments, before Dean jumps into Baby and tears off, dust obscuring his view of the salvage yard that’s been his home for the past four years.


	2. Chapter 2

 

Dean is lucky in his drive, only running into one band of demons in the mountain west of Salt Lake City. He can only think one battered old car with one passenger isn’t all that attractive to the other demons who must be circling, especially in some of the more built up areas he can’t avoid. He takes care of the rogue band easily, downing them with enough salt rounds so he can make his escape. They’re on foot and no match for Baby’s speed when she’s moving.

There are no people at all; either the remaining population is hidden out in rural colonies off the main roads, or they’re all dead. Dean isn’t sure which is more likely and tries not to think about it.

His main issues as he drives are boredom - driving this distance alone is a far cry from the fun he used to have when Sam was in the passenger seat; and running out of gas. He sees a couple of abandoned cars as he goes, and is able to siphon of their gas tanks (making him believe all the locals are dead), so he’s pretty sure he’ll get to Cali ok.

He stops twice to sleep and eat, but otherwise rolls right through the midwest, a part of the country he’d never been fond of even before it was potentially filled with murderous demons. He makes sure to bypass San Francisco; nothing good can possibly come of big cities, which had been the first targets when the war between heaven and hell had spilled over onto earth.

He swings right around San Jose too, coming up to Palo Alto from the Pacific Coast. Looking over his shoulder at the ocean, he marvels at its beauty, the golden sands melting into clear blue water as if nothing had ever gone wrong. The burnt out wrecks of cars on the other side of the road, some with picked apart skeletons still visible in the seats, highlight how untrue that is.

Dean nearly loses his mind when he finds the university deserted. It’s clear no one has lived there for a long time, the halls covered in thick dust and the streets empty. The surrounding supermarkets and the campus canteens have been picked clean, though, and that’s all that gives Dean hope to carry on. He parks the car in a copse of trees off the road, where it can’t easily be seen, and pulls out his road atlas of the United States. Poring over it, he tries to decide where would be the most logical place in the area to set up a camp in an emergency. Outside the city centres, he thinks; but near to the water. Closing the atlas, he heads towards the bridge across to Fremont, wondering how long he’ll have to drive before he sees any sign of human life ( _if_ he ever sees any sign of human life).

He doesn’t stop to consider what will happen if the humans find him first

He’s driving along a quiet road, glancing side to side at the abandoned houses, arm propped on the window frame, when two cars roar out in front of him. He pulls Baby to a stop, dust flying up from her spinning tyres. His dad’s training kicks in and he scans his position for possible exit routes, he finds two cars behind him as well. They’re big trucks and they’re blocking the road, nothing he can smash his way through, and there are well-constructed houses to either side. If these people are unfriendly, they’ve chosen their ambush spot well.

A figure hops out of the car in front of him, gun raised and trained on his windshield. A second figure follows, gun by his side, and behind him, Dean hears a door slam as someone hops out of one of the trucks. He’s well and truly surrounded.

“Out of the car, hands in the air,” the figure in front shouts, California twang audible in his voice.

Dean eases the door open, poking his head around. “I don’t mean any trouble,” he says, hands raised. “Just here looking for signs of life.” He’s not keen to give away his true motivation yet, not until he knows what he’s walked into.

“Well you’ve found it. Now get on your knees, hands behind your head.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

It takes Dean a long time to convince the small band of men he’s an honest traveller, searching for signs of human survival in the Golden State. First, they run all the usual demon and creature tests on him, and none too carefully; it’s going to take a while for the cut on his arm to close up. Then they think he’s some kind of spy, looking to steal their supplies (or possibly their women, Dean’s not sure, they act oddly like protective cavemen), and _then_ they think he’s a madman for travelling the country alone, and they’re unwilling to let him anywhere near their home.

“What would’ve happened if you’d broken down out there?” one of them asks incredulously, dreadlocked hair swaying in the wind.

“Well,” Dean says patiently, “I’m a mechanic. So I would’ve fixed the car and carried on. She’s in perfect condition anyway, she runs like a dream.” He pats Baby as he talks, smiling at her and remembering all the hard work he and his Dad had put into keeping her that way.

“A mechanic!”

“Holy shit!”

“A good mechanic?”

That seems to be the magic word which opens up their world to Dean. Their excitement is written on their faces, this group of eight grubby men who are surrounding him. “We need a good mechanic,” one of the younger ones says, before he’s elbowed by their leader.

“Are you?” the leader asks, “A good mechanic, I mean?”

“Yes,” Dean says simply. He’s never seen the point in selling himself short when it comes to one of his few actual talents. He’s never felt like he has many to shout about.

The men bunch up together and confer, leaving only the young one with his gun trained on Dean. Breaking apart, they turn to face him again.

“Ok,” the leader says. “You’re coming with us.”

Dean soon finds out the leader is called Brad. “We’re in desperate need of people with practical skills,” he says. “We’ve got loads of people who are good with the few computers we’ve got left, loads of people who can grow things, including weed.” He winks at Dean at this point, and Dean grins back. He’s always liked a bit of relaxation when the opportunity presents itself. “We have loads of people who can cook, who can look after and teach the kids stuff. A fair few people who can fight. But no one who can fix machinery.”

“Well, that’s me,” Dean says. “But I can’t promise to stay.”

Brad gives him a sharp look. “You can promise to stay long enough to fix the urgent issues we have.” he says. It’s not a question.

“I can fight, too,” Dean says, keeping his voice light. “I was trained to kill demons and other creatures long before the Reckoning happened. Back when you lot didn’t know they existed.” Brad’s eyes narrow, assessing the truth of his statement and clearly not liking what he finds.

The car rattles over loose stones, drowning out any further opportunity for conversation, but Dean feels like he made his point. He won’t be held prisoner anywhere.

As Dean had suspected, the settlement is towards the edge of town. Dean can soon see the sea again, and they drive until they get to a clump of houses at the edge of what was probably a nature reserve backing onto the sea. The houses are heavily fortified, armed guards visible along fencing clearly built since the Reckoning. It looks solid, and Dean is impressed with their efforts.

“You don’t have a mechanic, but you managed to build that fence?”

Brad’s eyes drop. “We used to have a whole lot more people.” Dean doesn’t question him further.

Despite any losses they’ve sustained, Dean is led into a thriving urban settlement. This is no village, no small desperate community like Sioux Falls; a lot of people live here. The town stretches out further than it appears, with gaps between the houses where buildings have been razed and turned into small fields. Dean realises a lot of the land around the settlement has also been cultivated, meaning the settlement must be getting close to being self-sustaining, especially with the water source behind them.

He’s driven into the centre of the settlement, towards a big, imposing house at its centre. The area around it has been cleared, making an area for public assembly. There are several other cars parked around the area, creating an extra layer of fortification and protection. Brad pulls his car up into line, beeps the horn obnoxiously without warning, causing Dean to startle, and hops out. “Come on,” he says, teeth still a blinding California white. “Time for you to meet the Boss.”

The door of the big house opens, revealing an equally large, imposing man silhouetted against the light streaming out behind him. His shoulders are almost as wide as the doorframe, and even with his face hidden, he gives off an air of authority.

“What’s this?” His voice rumbles, deep and quiet, as if he never has to raise his voice to ensure people listen.

“Boss,” Brad says. “We found a straggler when we were out on patrol. Says he’s a mechanic.” He shoves Dean forwards, and Dean stumbles before he rights himself. He files that one away in his mind; he needs to remember Brad is not to be trusted.

“A mechanic?” The Boss is keeping his excitement hidden more than his men had, but there’s still a note of interest he’s unable to completely suppress. “And how do we know he’s not a dirty liar who wants at our supplies?”

“Figured we’d test him out,” Brad replies. “Keep him under guard, of course. But we need to fix the truck up real bad, so it’s worth a try, right?” Brad can’t keep the nerves from seeping into his voice at the end of his explanation, and it can’t mean anything good for Dean if his own men are this wary of their leader.

“Guess so,” the man drawls, and Dean almost feels Brad sag with relief next to him. The Boss steps out of the door onto the porch, and Dean can finally see his face. He’s definitely a man to be respected, if not outright feared; his dark eyes zero in on Dean with an assessing gaze. Dean has nothing to hide, though, and he’s more than confident in his own abilities, so he holds the stare, refusing to back down.

The Boss chuckles. “Take him somewhere he can spend the night. I want lights out as soon as it’s dark, no wasting anything tonight. He can start his new job first thing. I’ll meet him properly tomorrow; I’ve got better things to do tonight.” He leers at the last bit, winking at the two men in front of him, and Brad mutters, “I’ll just bet you do.”

The Boss turns back around to go into the house, and briefly, Dean sees another figure behind him, tall and slim and shadowed. The Boss puts his hands on the figure’s waist, slamming him into the wall, and kicks the front door shut with his foot, putting an end to the free show Dean is sure was about to begin. “That his wife?” he asks Brad.

“Wife. Sure.” Brad snorts. Dean assumes the Boss got the pick of the girls who were left after the Reckoning, and his men are jealous. “Let’s go.”

Dean is led away again, but he looks back at the house as he goes, wondering about the man inside.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Dean is woken at an obnoxious hour the next morning, a none-too-careful boot to the ribs jolting him out of his indistinct dreams of Sam. He’s dreamed of his brother every single night since he left, even before the Reckoning.

He’s never lost the ability to wake up swiftly, despite the years since he has been on a real hunt. He grabs the booted foot and holds on tight. “Want me to fix your truck?” he growls. “Don’t fucking kick me.”

The kid from the day before laughs nervously, trying to tug his ankle out of Dean’s grasp. “Sure thing,” he says, his tone light and forced. “Wanted to wake you up quick cos Brad wants you in the garage.”

“Uh huh.” Dean is unimpressed. Sitting up, he levels a glare at the kid before asking, “What do you guys do for breakfast? Because I don’t work before I’ve eaten.”

“Coffee?” The kid asks, still shaking his leg in Dean’s hands. “Pancakes?”

“That’ll do,” Dean answers, hiding his shock at their supply levels. “Quickly now.”

The kid shoots off, relieved, and Dean snorts. Despite the end of the world, 17 year old kids are as cocky and as full of hot air as they’ve always been.

Fortified by a breakfast of the best food he’s eaten in years, he leaves to find the garage. The man waiting for him inside is surprised he arrives alone, later than expected, but wisely chooses not to comment. He’s not one of the men who ambushed Dean yesterday, but Dean suspects in a community like this, word travels.

“This is it,” the man says, indicating a relatively shiny old truck sitting in a corner. “Been broke for a while now, we can’t seem to find anyone who can fix it.”

Dean is surprised. It’s not a particularly old car and there’s no visible damage; it shouldn’t have any serious issues. “Ok,” he says, “I’ll take a look. Shouldn’t be anything I can’t handle.”

The man hums, skeptical. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Dean’s surprised to be left alone with the truck, which is nestled among a few other, presumably functional, cars in the garage; but a quick glance out of the window shows him a busy street, with people all around. As the conspicuous newcomer, his chances of escaping unseen, let alone making off with one of their precious cars, is non-existent.

As he’d suspected, it only takes him a couple of hours to sort what was wrong with the truck. It was a simple solution, and the fact they had no one who could do it underlined how desperately they were in need of a mechanic. He wipes the oil off his face with a handy rag, and heads to the window.

“Hey, you,” he yells at the nearest man. “I’ve fixed your truck, who needs to see it?”

The guy, an older man who’s been sitting on a step peeling potatoes and shelling peas all morning, is startled but recovers fast. “I’ll get Brad,” he says. “He wanted to know as soon as you were done. Might take a minute though, he’ll be out in in the field. Didn’t expect you to finish so quick.”

“Thanks,” Dean replies, and settles down to wait.

It does take a while for Brad to come back, and Dean is itching to explore - but he needs to stay in the settlement for at least a few days to find out what they know, so he needs to earn their trust. Wandering about before he’s given the ok to do so won’t get him very far down that road.

“Mike says you fixed it?” Brad asks before he’s through the doorway. “Already?”

“Yup,” Dean says. “Told you I knew what I was doing.”

Brad is still skeptical. “Let’s see.” Dean turns the ignition and the truck starts up easily. “Ok, that’s great.” Despite the positive words, he seems a little put out; Dean guesses fixing the truck so quickly has made a fair few people look incompetent. “Now come with me to meet the Boss properly.”

They proceed down the street, Brad leading and Dean following, although Dean knows exactly where he’s going. He’s beginning to understand that Brad likes his little bit of power, and likes formalities to be followed. Brad leads him back up to the house they were at last night, and knocks sharply on the door.

The Boss answers the door again, this time shirtless. He’s as big across as Dean had thought from further away the night before, thick muscle cording his arms and standing out under the fur of his chest. He levels a cold gaze at Dean.

“The truck is fixed,” Brad announces, full of self-importance.

“Is it now?” The Boss doesn’t take his eyes off of Dean, and Brad shuffles at his side in agitation. Dean is not one to be easily intimidated, or to be intimidated at all, but there is something impressive about the man, and something else under the surface which makes Dean’s hackles raise. Maybe it’s the fingerprint bruises on the tops of his arms, or the scratches on his sides.

“Running like new,” he answers, jaunty, refusing to be cowed. “Simple fix and it shouldn’t happen again.”

“So you really do know what you’re doing.” It’s not a question, so Dean doesn’t answer. The uncomfortable silence drags on while the Boss waits. “Well. We have a lot of other stuff which needs fixing. You’re welcome to stay, for a while at least. But be warned, everyone around here is expected to pull their weight, and I run a tight ship; this isn’t the place for you if you don’t want to work.”

It sounds like a speech he’s given many times before, and he expects it to impress. Dean is unmoved.

“Of course,” he answers shortly. He’d expect nothing less; in this brave new world everyone has to pitch in.

The Boss still hasn’t looked away; his clear blue eyes are locked on Dean’s face, taking in every detail. Dean may not be intimidated, but he is creeped out.

“Ok, show me where to get to work.”

“I’ll take you to the big kitchen; they’ve got a furnace not working. You think you could fix it?” Dean had almost forgotten Brad was there, and his voice serves to cut the tension between the other two men.

“Lead the way.”

As they walk away from the big house, the Boss leans against the doorframe to watch them leave. Dean can feel his stare from across the square; he turns back around only when he hears the door shut behind him.

“He always like that?” he asks Brad, gesturing at the big house.

“Erm, no. Not quite that bad. He seems to think you need keeping in line.” Brad’s voice indicates he shares the opinion.

“Whatever,” Dean replies. He’s stares at the big house, wondering what it is the Boss does in there all day if everyone is expected to be working. It’s a big place for one person.

“He lives alone in there?”

“No, he’s got a… partner,” Brad says, grinning.

“A girlfriend?”

“No, not exactly.” The smirk on Brad’s face gets wider, and Dean decides to let it be. He’s got no time for small town gossip or judgemental attitudes; he’d steered well clear of all that back in Sioux Falls. He’s looking back at the big house when he sees movement behind a curtain, and then a face appears, peeking out. The face is familiar, especially in the way it moves, the way the man cocks his head to one side; but it still takes Dean a moment to place where he knows him.

“Sam!” he breathes, heart pounding and mouth dry. “Sammy!”


	5. Chapter 5

 

“Sammy!” Dean shouts. He starts forward, ready to run towards the brother he’s been looking for; the brother he’s been missing these past 5 years. It only takes a second for Brad to grab his arm and pull him back.

“Let fucking go,” Dean snarls, not ready to let anything come between them now he’s found Sam again. He pulls his arm out of Brad’s grip and heads towards the house again, only for Brad to sneak a vicious arm around his neck and pull him away.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dean swears, struggling.

“Fucking stop,” Brad grunts. “He belongs to the Boss. You don’t get to talk to him.”

The words are shocking enough to get Dean to stop struggling, and slowly, Brad lets go of him. Dean spins around.

“What the fuck do you mean, _he belongs to the Boss_?”

“He’s the Boss’ boy, and the Boss is very possessive. Lots of guys here would love to get their hands on him, but the Boss keeps him locked up tight. What did you think he was off to do last night, play chess?” Brad is outright leering by the end of his little speech, and Dean can’t help it; big-brother fury roars through him and he punches Brad in the face. Hard. It doesn’t hurt that he’s wanted to do that to the man since they met.

“What the fuck is your problem!” Brad hisses, holding a hand to his bleeding face.

“Don’t fucking talk about him like that.”

“What’s he to you?”

“He’s…” Dean realises he has to think fast, and claiming Sam as his brother right now might not be the smartest move. “I’ve known him since we were kids, and I don’t want anyone disrespecting him like that.” Brad’s face softens; everyone who is left after the Reckoning knows what it’s like to find friends and family again after they were thought lost.

Belatedly, he realises Sam might still be watching and spins around, but the figure at the window is gone. “I want to see him,” he demands.

“Easier said than done. The Boss really does keep him on lockdown. Likes to have him ready whenever…” Brad realises he is straying into dangerous territory again and wisely shuts up.

“Well. I’ll find a way.” Determined, Dean sets off back towards the main street; he’s not going to accomplish anything with Brad tailing him.

Dean is taken to the kitchen to get on with his afternoon’s work, head spinning. He’s thankful he’s always found fixing things calming, that if the job is straightforward enough, it always gives him time to think - because he needs time to get his head around this.

Sam is safe.

Sam is safe.

His Sammy is safe.

He repeats it as a mantra for the first hour he works in the kitchen, letting the feeling sink into his bones. He feels lighter all over, a weight lifted from his shoulders he hadn’t realised was weighing him down. Sam is safe.

But other thoughts intrude. Sam might be safe, physically safe, not being ridden by a demon or an angel or a casualty of their endless war, but it doesn’t mean things are good for him. _The Boss is very possessive,_ he thinks. _He belongs to the Boss_. These are not the hallmarks of a healthy, happy relationship. Dean frowns. There’s the fact that his little brother is apparently gay; Dean doesn’t care, but he is a little hurt Sam had never confided in him.

Most importantly: _the Boss keeps him on lockdown_. Dean needs to find a way to speak to Sam. Urgently.

It takes another day or so for Dean to get enough of a handle on the Boss and his routine to risk a visit to Sam. Dean learns, through careful questioning; using skills from his hunting days, that the Boss spends a lot of his time in the big house, working on logistics and supplies and other key activities to keep the settlement running smoothly, but on Thursday mornings he takes a tour of all the fields and workshops to make sure everyone is working hard. Dean ponders on a way to get out of being at his own place of work on Thursday morning without arousing suspicion; he quickly decides faking illness is his best bet and swallows enough salt-water to make himself sick. He’s promptly sent back to his temporary home; medical supplies are precious and no one wants a bug to spread.

He waits and watches as the Boss leaves the big house. He sees Sam at the doorway, peering out almost fearfully before the Boss pulls him into a possessive, rough kiss. Even from a distance, Dean can see Sam go pliant in his arms and his blood boils; he doesn’t believe his little brother wants this.

As soon as he’s sure the Boss is gone, Dean speeds out from his hiding place and approaches the big house, knocking on the door. It opens quickly, Sam framed in the doorway like all Dean’s wishes come true.

He’s tall now, Dean’s little brother; taller than Dean though perhaps not as tall as the Boss. He’s still slim, all bony wrists and sharp shoulders and pronounced cheekbones, dimples hidden away. He’s an _adult,_ Dean realises, not the shrimpy boy who left Dean for Stanford.

Sam looks at Dean without surprise, and Dean realises Sam must have seen him, before; must have known he was here.

“Dean,” Sam says, quiet. Not a trace of excitement in his voice.

“Sammy!” Dean can’t keep the excitement out of his; he surges forward and pulls his little brother into a crushing hug. But it’s all wrong: Sam’s arms don’t go around his neck, like they’re supposed to; and Sam winces as Dean squeezes him, pushing away.

“Stop, Dean,” he says, still quiet and flat.

Dean won’t be stopped, though; has to reach out, running his hands along Sam’s thin arms, cupping his brother’s face and peering into his eyes. It feels like he’s on fire, like he’ll die if he doesn’t make sure Sam is ok, Sam is real.

“ _Stop_ , Dean. He won’t like it.”

Dean doesn’t need to ask who Sam means. “I’m checking that my little brother is ok. I’ve missed you so much, Sam. And besides, how will he know?”

“He’s got eyes everywhere.” Sam’s voice is flat, and he pushes Dean’s hands from his shoulders. “He doesn’t like other people touching me.”

“Well you’re my brother, so he’s going to have to suck it up. How have you been, Sam?” Dean is desperate to know everything, to find out all the details of Sam’s life these past five years; how he’d found this place, what he did with his time, whether he’d liked Stanford, whether he’d ever missed hunting, how frequently he’d thought of Dean.

“Fine, Dean.” Sam’s tone is final. “And I can see you’re fine too, so that’s all good.” He looks warily around. “I need to go back inside. I’m fine, Dean, you’ve seen that, so no need to call again.”

The door shuts in Dean’s face before he has a chance to process Sam’s words, and he’s left with the uncomfortable feeling that either his brother no longer cares for him, at all, or something is incredibly wrong. He can’t bear to think about the first option, but the second makes him so angry he can barely think straight.

It’s almost physically painful to move from the doorstep, to walk further away from Sam, but he forces himself to. His instincts are roaring at him to protect Sam, their Dad’s motto never seeming more apt than now; but he knows he needs to think this through.

Dean spends the night tossing and turning restlessly, his mind stuck on thoughts of Sam; Sam’s relationship, Sam’s unhappy face, how to rescue Sam without bringing the wrath of this settlement down around them. For Dean is under no illusions: if Sam belongs to the Boss, and Dean tries to steal him away, this settlement will back their leader above him any day. Not least because they all seem to have been ignoring the weirdness of the relationship in the first place.

He manages to drift off around dawn, his usual dreams of Sam morphed into something more urgent, tinged red at the edges. He’s woken not long after to much more noise in the small settlement than he’s become accustomed to in the few days he’s been here; there is shouting and laughter outside, the noise of engines being tested and bangs as large objects are transported. Intrigued, outside the small window in his borrowed room he sees what is clearly the preparation for an outing; several cars and trucks, including the ones that had brought him in and the one he’d fixed, are being loaded up with supplies and weapons, men (and a few women) being ordered to each one.

One of the conclusions he’d come to in his long night of worry is for him to escape with Sam, he needs to know more of the conditions in the surrounding area; no use them running away only to be killed immediately by demons. He knows the road he arrived on is safe, but that’s the first place the Boss will look; they will need to find an alternative, less obvious route back to Sioux Falls.

(Dean is unwilling to consider that Sam might not want to leave with him. It’s not an option.)

So, immediately he knows he needs to go on this outing. And surely Sammy, with his skill set, will be going too; it might even be a chance for them to spend some time together.

It doesn’t take much for him to convince Brad to let him join what he learns is a supply run. He simply lists of a small fraction of his knowledge of demons and the hunts he had taken part in as a teenager, and Brad is shoving a salt gun into his hands.

“Just don’t prove me wrong,” Brad hisses. “I’m trusting you.”

“What on earth would I want to do?” Dean asks, honestly perplexed by the lack of trust. “I’ve told you I found a long lost friend here, why wouldn’t I want to come back?”

Brad doesn’t seem impressed.

“Talking of,” Dean continues. “Which car will Sam be in?”

Brad laughs. “You really don’t get it, do you?” he asks. “Lockdown. The Boss doesn’t let his boy out of town and hardly ever out of the house. He’s not coming on a supply run.”

Dean has no response but to goggle stupidly at Brad. “But Sam has the same skills I do,” he says. “Why the fuck aren’t you using him?”

“Take it up with the Boss,” is the short answer. “It’s your funeral.”

The supply run takes two days. They range far afield, searching for untouched supermarkets, warehouses and factories . It speaks volumes to Dean about how little the demons or angels care about them; if they wanted to wipe humans off the planet, it would have been simply achieved in the first few months of the Reckoning by destroying all the pre-prepared food. It had been the only thing supplying most settlements until they’d started to grow their own and become self-sustaining.

He learns the majority of California is as empty as the lands he’d driven through on his way to the settlement. The Golden State, with its dense population, had apparently been a prime target for angels and demons in the early days; for those looking for vessels, for those seeking the power contained in human souls and simply for those demons who’d escaped from hell and desperate to have a good time.

They hadn’t used weapons of mass destruction though, as they had in some places, so the towns and the edges of the cities they drive through remain physically untouched, eerie ghost towns being reclaimed by nature. Dogs and cats have proliferated, as have other, more aggressive breeds like coyotes. Weeds and climbing plants are breaking down the houses and break up the roads, and the shells of burnt out cars are rusting and falling apart. It’s like a scene from every apocalypse movie Dean’s ever seen, and it’s much worse than anything he’d encountered on his drive through the midwest.

Driving through the devastation gives him an inkling into why Sam might have chosen the safety of a relationship with the leader of a settlement initially; he is lucky to have survived at all in California. But no matter how much Dean turns things around in his head, he can’t work out why Sam has stayed. Why his capable, smart, strong brother has not simply put an end to things with the Boss.

The trip, with its long hours of driving and opportunity for thought, gives him no answers.


	6. Chapter 6

The settlement turns out to greet them when they get back, keen to examine what they’ve brought in - toilet paper is at a premium and everyone wants more - and oddly enough, this seems to be one of the few occasions when Sam is let out.

He’s standing to one side as the trucks pull in, the Boss looming over him with an arm wrapped snugly around Sam’s tiny waist. Dean takes the precious few moments to look his fill, desperate to feast his eyes on Sam again after so many years. He wants to sit Sam down in front of him, and catalogue every single way in which he’s different, every single change, however miniscule. He’s overwhelmed by the urge to take Sam’s clothes off, strip him down to his boxers and learn every new scar on the body he’d once known as well as his own. He dares to hope Sam wants the same, wants to see what the intervening years have done to Dean, to question the long rip on his thigh from a shifter in Maine, the burn on his arm from carelessness around a hot engine in Sioux Falls, the puckered wound on the left of his stomach from his one run in with an angel. But Sam doesn’t make eye contact with Dean, keeping his eyes either studiously down or fixed carefully on the Boss’ face.

The Boss, on the other hand, does notice Dean’s stare. He locks eyes with Dean, before sliding his hand down to grab Sam’s ass. Sam jolts, not expecting the touch, and is pulled into another of the Boss’ demanding, claiming kisses. When Sam is allowed to pull away, Dean is furious to note his brother’s high cheekbones are flushed with embarrassment. He remembers Sam in his late teens, pulling away from all physical affection, especially in public, like he’d been burned, and wonders again how much his man-brother has changed from the boy-brother he knew.

The cars are quickly unloaded and the trip declared a resounding success. Dean’s contribution is praised - they’d run into exactly two demons and Dean had exorcised exactly two demons, quickly, efficiently and without injury to himself or anyone else. Most of the team splits off to stock everything in their store houses, but despite the truck fixing and the exorcisms, Dean is apparently not yet trusted enough to know where precious stores live. He doesn’t blame them - it’s not like he’s not planning to make off with some of their supplies and their leader’s precious boyfriend at the first opportunity. But interestingly, he does note the Boss clearly intends to oversee the stockpiling alone, and dispatches Sam back to the big house with a firm slap to the rear. Dean worries when his brother flinches at the smack.

He lurks around for a bit, before following in Sam’s footsteps. The settlement is in a jolly mood, everyone pleased at the successful return, and to cap it off, the Boss has ordered them to crack open some booze. Dean weaves his way between revellers with ease.

This time, he doesn’t knock on the front door. He slips around to the back of the house and finds an open window (who needs security from burglars in the settlement, where everything, apart from Sam, is shared?) Shimmying his way through, he’s pleased as always for the sheer range of skills he’s proficient in, thanks to their father. Had he needed to pick the lock on the back door, it would have taken seconds.

Creeping through the house does put something of a lie to the whole share and share alike philosophy. Dean’s been sleeping in a spartan, shared house with limited comforts; his blanket is worn thin and his pillow has seen better days (he’s been using one of Sam’s old hoodies, something he’s kept with him, always, to give his neck a little extra support). Their crockery is chipped and faded, and their shower occasionally achieves more than a dribble.

But here there are multiple guest rooms with full bedding, cupboards full of plates and cups in pristine condition, and what looks like the family silver. Dean passes an ornate downstairs shower room before he ascertains Sammy is not downstairs, and he’s willing to bet there are more bathrooms upstairs. Reading materials are scarce in the town; there are few novels left, most having been used as fuel at some point, and the settlers gather round each other at night to share stories to for entertainment, but here there are bookshelves full of books in more genres than Dean can identify.

He slips up the stairway, caught between making noise so Sam knows he’s coming, and his natural instinct, drilled into him from years of hunts, to keep quiet. The stairs barely creak; whoever had owned this house, before, they’d kept it well. He stays quiet when he reaches the landing, peeking into doorways and as he suspected, finding more bathrooms as well as bedrooms.

Sam is of course in the final bedroom, at the end of the long corridor. The door stands ajar and Dean can’t resist peeking around it, wanting to witness this unguarded moment of Sam alone, to learn how his brother acts behind closed doors.

His heart catches in his throat, his pulse roaring under his skin.

Sam stands in front of a mirror, his shirt pulled up below his armpits. He’s examining the plethora of bruises scattered across his torso. They range from the sickly, urine-yellow of old bruises, close to healing; to the angry purple-black of newly inflicted pain. Some are clearly visible as fingerprints, and scratches are reflected around his brothers’ nipples in the mirror.

Dean watches, aghast, as Sam drops his t-shirt back to his mottled hipbones and slips his pants down slightly, twisting to look at the top of his ass. He doesn’t pull them down far, but it’s enough for Dean to see angry red marks; enough to understand why Sam had flinched away from the slap earlier.

Dean has never felt this angry, or this helpless. He doesn’t know what to do, or what to do first - does he march into the room and confront Sam? Does he pull this man who’s no longer his kid brother into his arms and hope Sam caves, falling soft and sweet into frantic tears as he had when he was 13 and being bullied at school? Does he slip quietly away into the town and murder the Boss where he stands, not a trace of mercy or regret?

Dean desperately wants to take the last option, but he knows it’s the easy way out. It stops him from having to focus on Sam’s pain, from having to absorb what Sam has gone through. Because that’s the way it always was with them: cut one and the other bled.

Ultimately, the words come out before he has a chance to stop them.

“Sammy,” his voice is barely more than a whisper, but it’s enough for Sam to whip around, shocked. Dean can hear the tears choking his own voice, so he’s shocked at Sam’s response.

“Fuck off, Dean.” His little brother sounds as fierce, and as terrified, as he had when Dean had caught him smoking pot with Lana Morrissey when Sam was 16. Dean had never laughed so hard in his life as he had that night, Sam’s terrified babbling exaggerated by the weed he’d smoked. He’d heard Sam out, and then ruffled his hair and told him not to let Dad know, and Sam had slumped against his side in relief.

Dean isn’t laughing now.

“What the fuck, Sam,” he says instead, feet able to move again. He pushes into the room towards his brother, and Sam backs away, an instinctive fear response. His brother’s skittishness makes Dean madder; he backs Sam up against the dresser and grabs at his t-shirt. The bruises are revealed again, more gory at close range.

“What the fuck happened, Sammy?” he asks, voice breaking.

“None of your goddamn business, Dean. Now leave me alone.” Sam’s mouth wobbles at the corners, an old tell; and his push towards Dean is weak, nowhere near strong enough to make Dean back off.

“Sam,” Dean implores. He can’t leave his brother like this, but he can’t bear to force him, either.

“Go away, Dean.” The push this time is weaker, Sam so close to breaking.

“He did this to you, didn’t he?” Sam can’t meet Dean’s eyes, and Dean is furious with his brother. He’s never experienced emotions so helter-skelter before, not even when Dad died.

“Why the hell are you still with him then?” He shakes Sam, ever so slightly, and it’s enough to snap Sam back.

“None. Of your. Fucking. Business.” Sam spits out, and shoves Dean for real this time. Dean stumbles back, giving Sam the chance to yank his shirt back down, covering the bruises.

“I just don’t get it, Sammy. Why you’re still with him,” the anger has left Dean as abruptly as it arrived, and he’s almost shaking with sorrow. “You’re … well, you’re you. You could take him down with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back. Why put up with this?”

“He cares for me,” Sam’s voice is quiet.

“Is this what caring looks like, Sam?” Dean gestures frantically at Sam’s bruises.

“He does,” Sam insists. “He makes sure I have things I like, things I need.”

“What could be important enough to justify this, Sam?”

“He lets me have books, and learning, and knowledge, Dean.” Sam’s voice is earnest now. “Those things aren’t important any more, and it’s not like I can be helpful otherwise. Without him, no one would take me in.”

He sounds like he’s speaking from rote, form something that’s been said again and again and again, and it’s heartbreaking to watch.

“What do you mean, no one would take you in? They’re crying out for your skills, our skills, out there. You’d be one of the most valuable people in this place, Sammy.”

“That’s not true, Dean. I’m a book person, a researcher. You and Dad always wanted me to research things. And that’s no use now.” Sam is deadly serious, and Dean’s head is pounding.

“No, Sammy, no. You have the same skills as me, and they let me go out on a supply mission with them today even though they don’t know me and they don’t trust me. Our skills meant I exorcised two demons and I saved the whole group. You can do the same things as me, Sammy.”

Sam wraps his thin arms around his chest, hugging tight. “Not true, Dean. I was never as good at that stuff as you were and I’m well out of practice. I’m only useful for being pleasing.”

Dean clenches his fists. “Listen to me, truly, Sammy. You do not have to do this. You can build a life for yourself, a better life than this. You could do that here, they’d welcome you with open arms. Or-” Dean is about to go on to say he and Sam should leave, head back to Bobby and Sioux Falls, but Sam interrupts.

“They think I’m a whore, Dean. They have no respect for me.” He laughs bitterly, a hollow sound nothing like the cheerful, bubbling laughter Dean still hears in his better dreams. “And he knows things about me you can’t imagine, and he values me anyway.”

Sam seems to have regained some of his self control, and he steps forward, jaw set. Dean can’t believe Sam could ever do anything bad, that there is anything Sam could ever do which would make him not value his baby brother. He’s about to tell Sam, in no uncertain terms, but Sam gets there first.

“I’d like you to leave, Dean.”

“Sammy-”

“Leave, please, Dean.” Sam’s voice is flat, and final, and he is standing tall now.

Dean’s never been good with words. He knows, and he consciously tries to be better, to say things that are difficult for him; but this situation is far beyond anything he’s ever imagined. Sam’s cold eyes bore into him, indicating there is going to be no change of heart on this one. Sometimes, he thinks, sometimes a tactical retreat is best - losing the battle to win the war.

“Ok, Sam,” he says. “Ok, I’ll leave. For now. But this isn’t over. You’re still my little brother, and I still want to fix this.” There is no reply. Dean walks, slowly, out of the bedroom door, his eyes always on Sam.

As he gets to the top of the stairs, he hears Sam’s faint goodbye: “You can’t fix this, Dean.”

The hell he can’t.

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

The booze is flowing freely when he reaches the centre of the settlement again, and Dean has never felt more like he deserves a drink in his entire life - and given the perils of his life, that’s saying something. He takes the first beer handed to him, downs it and takes another, before searching for a whiskey chaser.

Apparently all the good stuff has been broken open tonight, because there is plenty of whiskey to go around. Dean is more than willing to admit he might be drinking more than his fair share, but he thinks bitterly if anyone questions him, he’ll tell them to go and look in their precious Boss’ house. He’s sure there’s a huge stockpile of premium liquor hidden away in there.

It doesn’t take long for everything to blur at the edges. It’s been a long four years since the Reckoning without regular drinking, alcohol now saved for special occasions or anaesthetic purposes, and it’s eaten away at his once-legendary alcohol tolerance. He starts to feel like there might be other ways he can make what happened earlier disappear from his mind for a short while, and he scans around for options.

There are far fewer women in the settlement than there are men, and the majority of them seem to be in relationships. He’s not stupid enough to pick fights with boyfriends, that’s never been his style; so focuses on some of the women who are on their own. He catches the eye of a cute girl he’s talked to a few times; they’ve flirted a bit and she seems like fun, so he makes his way over.

An hour later, he’s pretty sure it’s a done deal. He helps Jill to her feet and stands up; both of them completely steady on their feet, only swaying slightly into each other. It’s time for his best moves, so he cups Jill’s cheek, buries his hand in her chestnut hair and looks deep into her blue eyes ( _wrong colour,_ he thinks, followed by _shut up)_. Their kiss is slightly sloppy; he misses her mouth, by a tiny bit, and has to re-adjust, but then it’s good. She tastes like sweets and beer, not what he’d expected but he’ll roll with it, and he nudges her towards his room.

Dean’s subtle nudging is interrupted by the feeling of someone trying to wrench his shoulder out of its socket. “What the fuck,” he yells, spinning round. He comes face to face with Brad.

Despite the beers and the whisky, it only takes a Dean a moment to understand what’s happening. Of all the girls… he thinks, bitterly. Two days on the road with Brad had not further endeared them to each other and he knows this is not going to end well.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Brad yells. He swings at Dean and Dean steps aside, easily. Much as he’d like a fight right now, Brad is respected in town and it won’t do him any good.

“Don’t fucking step aside, if you’re going to steal my girlfriend at least have the balls to fight me.”

Dean can barely resist rolling his eyes at the old-fashioned idea that he could ‘steal’ a girl.

“She seemed pretty into it to me,” he mocks, before he can think better of it.

Brad recoils, but his eyes light up. “Just as into it as your little friend is when the Boss fucks him.” Dean’s heartbeat speeds up, and he takes a step forward, but Brad isn’t intimidated. “We can hear him screaming sometimes. He screams real good for a whore.”

Brad hits the ground before he can say anything else, his nose pouring blood after it cracks apart. Dean barely feels it as his arms are restrained and he’s hauled off.

****

Brad’s friends do not take kindly to Dean breaking their beloved captain’s nose, not at all. Two of them, men he’d saved from demons the day before, drag him off towards a darker part of town. Brad follows, cupping his nose and trying to staunch the bleeding.

Once they’re out of sight of the main crowd, they let loose with a flurry of kicks and punches. Dean knows full well how to defend himself, and he also knows he’s not going to win a three-against-one fight when his attackers have home-town advantage. He either runs away, and risks them finding him quickly with their superior knowledge of the town layout, at which point they’ll be more annoyed; or he can fight back, and risk them calling more friends to help out. He’s not keen on either of those options, so he goes for door number three: defending himself and minimising the damage.

He curls up into a protective ball, trying to keep his kidneys out of danger, using one hand to protect his balls and cupping the other around his head. Apparently, his lack of fight is not what they’re looking for; after a few minutes and a few unimaginative insults, the two men lose interest and start to wander back towards the main party.

Brad remains for one last kick. “I’ve been wanting to do that since you got here,” he says, the venom in his tone not diluted despite the fact he is struggling to pronounce half his words. “Thanks for giving me an excuse.”

“Not my fault your girl has to go elsewhere to get her kicks.” Dean’s never known when to keep his mouth shut and now is no exception. He’s expecting further kicks, or maybe for Brad to haul him up and break Dean’s nose in retaliation, but Brad has apparently understood how to wound Dean.

“At least now you’ll look like your little buddy,” he says. “His screams are extra-specially sweet when the Boss is beating the shit out of him.”

Dean tries to scramble to his feet, but Brad’s mocking laughter is already fading by the time he’s steady enough to follow, and he’s forced to admit he needs to make yet another tactical retreat.


	8. Chapter 8

 

He wakes up the next morning in significant pain. Certainly not the worst he’s ever had, either as a hunter or from demons, in the early days of the Reckoning; but it’s bad enough that moving is going to be troublesome and he’s going to be feeling like shit for days. Rolling carefully out of bed, he’s pleased to note there’s no blood in his piss; he’d been successful in shielding his kidneys from Brad’s friends.

Pulling his t-shirt up in front of the mirror provokes a bitter laugh; he does look like Sammy now. Ugly bruises mottle his ribs and upper torso; feeling gently about suggests none of his ribs are cracked and he thanks his lucky stars again that Brad’s friends were more bluster than bite. Seeing the bruises makes him more furious than he’d been the day before; he now knows exactly how much pain Sam is likely to be experiencing on a regular basis and it’s completely unacceptable. He’s going to make sure the Boss is repaid a million times over for every bruise, every mark, every fucking papercut he’s ever inflicted on Dean’s baby brother.

His face is where the real difference is, though. It’s clear the Boss enjoys plausible deniability by not marking Sam’s face (or anywhere else likely to be seen in public), but one of Dean’s eyes is nearly swollen shut and his lower lip is split. He grimaces, because there’s going to be no hiding what happened last night. Getting into this kind of fight always has consequences if you have to stick around, and while Sam’s here, he’s here.

Having cleaned up as best he can, he decides it’s time to face the day.

It’s clear that word has spread pretty quickly about the fight, as people eyes slide away from him in the street and don’t question his bruises. He wonders what story Brad had spun to excuse his actions, because Brad’s broken nose does not justify the severe working over his friends had given Dean.

He staggers his way into the garage, where he’s currently been put to work checking over all the settlement’s vehicles to ensure they are in peak condition. Mike, who’d apparently been nominated as his supervisor, takes one look at him and sends him back to his room. “I’ve never heard anything about blood being good for engines before,” he says without emotion. “And you’re likely to start bleeding again anytime soon.” It was as good a way as any of dismissing him for the day without appearing to take sides.

Dean is at a loose end back in his sparse room. He’s never been one for luxury; life on the road didn’t allow for it and the Reckoning had made everything scarce, but this room is an exceptional example of simplicity. There’s a bed, with a worn pillow and blanket, a crate at the end of the bed for his belongings, and a small narrow window. There’s barely enough space alongside the bed for Dean to stand, and there certainly isn’t space for any further furniture. After the lavishness of the Boss’ house yesterday, the inequality rife in the settlement is once again hammered home.

He’s lying on his bed, wishing for his old walkman and some magic fingers, when he hears a shuffling noise downstairs, and distinctly, someone climbing the stairs. Immediately on guard, he casts about for a weapon and finds his razor in his crate. Holding it tightly, he waits for the intruder to show their face.

To his utter shock, a mop of dark curls is the first thing to peep around his door, followed by a pair of ever-changing puppy eyes. Dean can’t believe it, but Sam has come to see him.

“Dean,” Sam gasps, in almost exactly the same tone Dean had used the day before. “I heard… but… fucking hell.” Sam almost trips over his long legs as he rushes towards Dean, his frantic worry an echo of the way Dean had felt. He stops short at the edge of the bed, his hands dancing in front of Dean’s eyes but clearly unwilling to make contact, or unsure if it would be welcome.

“I’m fine, Sammy. Just got into a bit of a fight.”

“I heard, Dean. Apparently you tried to rape Brad’s girlfriend.”

Dean shoots up in the bed. “I did fucking what?” He’s so indignant, his voice goes almost high-pitched and his body is so sore that he falls further forward than he’d thought. Sam catches him gently by the shoulders and guides him carefully back to the bed.

“I didn’t think so,” is Sam’s quiet response. “I didn’t think you’d changed that much in four years.”

That explains more about why Sam had come, Dean thinks. He’d needed to find out the truth and he’d presumably risked the Boss’ anger to do so.

“Of course I haven’t,” he says earnestly. “You know me, Sammy.”

Their eyes catch. “I do know you, Dean.” There’s a pause. “The problem is you don’t know me.”

Dean is stumped, because he knows every inch of Sam, every expression; he’d always known what mood the kid was in, what he needed, and he doubts much has changed. He remembers their conversation yesterday and Sam’s hopeless comment that the Boss valued him despite what he’d done; but there is nothing Sam could do to alienate Dean. Nothing he could do that would mean Dean wouldn’t… he shies away from the big word he’s always struggled to use, even within the privacy of his own head. But he means it anyway.

“I do know you, Sam. Whatever’s bothering you won’t bother me, I promise.”

Sam looks down, long hair covering his eyes, and takes a moment to collect himself.

“Let me help patch you up, Dean. I’ll go get the medical supplies.”

Sam is soon back with a full first aid kit and a lot of ice. He applies a small, careful band aid to the cut across Dean’s eyebrow and instructs Dean to apply ice; and wraps bandages around Dean’s bruised ribs with enormous care. He also thoroughly cleans out Dean’s scraped knuckles and his split lip.

Throughout the process, both men are quiet, the only words spoken are soft instructions for Dean to move, or to hold still. Dean feels like time has stopped, like he’s in a bubble where Sam’s other responsibilities, other relationships, don’t exist. Sam is clearly determined not to worry about the amount of time he’s spending away from the big house, so Dean resolves not to think about it either.

Feeling Sam’s hands on him again after all these years is infinitely soothing. This had been a common scene for them as teenagers, one or the other always suffering minor injuries in a hunt and the other administering first aid. The room feels right; the sparseness reflecting some of the shittier motels they’d stayed in.

Sam is, by necessity, so close to him at all times; not only so he can clean Dean’s wounds but because the room itself offers no other option. Dean can smell his brother’s distinct scent again for the first time in four years, and nothing about it has changed at all. He closes his eyes, content, as Sam strokes soft hands down his chest, across his face and into his hair; even to a few places where Dean is unhurt. Despite the pain, he could literally stay like this forever, Sam’s hands and attention completely focused on him.

But the bubble had to burst eventually, and when Sam has run out of minor scratches to tend, he looks fearfully out of the window. “Fuck,” he says quietly. “I need to get back.”

“Sam,” Dean starts, catching his wrist.

“I told you yesterday, Dean. Leave it.”

And with that, Sam is gone again.

Dean flies high for a while - not because Sam had given him painkillers, but because of the knowledge that Sam still cares about him and still believes in him enough to trust him over the accusations of people he’s been living with for four years. Despite the pain, he’s happy.

But the good feeling comes to an end when two men he’s had little dealings with so far arrive in his room. He’s seen Jose and Steve around, but has only exchanged a few words with them, so he doubts they’ve come to check up on him.

“Dean,” Jose greets him perfunctorily. “Boss wants to talk to you about last night.”

“I didn’t try to rape anyone,” Dean says angrily. “Or anything else you might’ve been told. All I did was break Brad’s nose because he’s a fucking ass.”

“Uh huh.” Jose is thoroughly uninterested. “None of my business. Boss wants to see you.”

He and Steve hover in the doorway while Dean awkwardly hauls himself to his feet, scowling at the way his muscles have cramped up during the day.

They march him irritably through the settlement and up to the big house, stopping short of laying hands on him when they see how badly bruised he is and how unlikely he is to run.

The house appears forbidding now Dean is being hauled before the settlement’s leader. All the windows are shut and the curtains pulled across despite the fact that it’s only late afternoon; it gives an impression the house has something to hide, which Dean knows full well it does.

He’s taken straight up to the front door, which swings open at their approach. The Boss has clearly been waiting for them, and steps out into the sunlight like a tiger leaving his lair. Jose and Steve back off quickly, and the Boss steps back as Dean limps inside.

The house is dim as Dean enters. The Boss stays behind him, close enough to feel his breath on Dean’s neck, and Dean is thoroughly unimpressed with his power games. He nudges Dean along a hallway and into the main lounge, a stuffy room that’s clearly rarely used, filled with uncomfortable-looking flowery chairs, fussy coffee tables and doilies - the kind of decor Dean associates with little old ladies with cats.

Sam is perched uncomfortably on the edge of one of the chairs. Fresh bruises purple his wrists, and there’s a bright, angry hickey on his neck. His fists clench uncontrollably, and he barely hears the softest of chuckles behind him. He collects himself; it’s bad enough the asshole Brad knows how he feels about Sam, he doesn’t need to give the Boss that power as well.

“Take a seat, Dean,” the Boss says, indicating a chair opposite Sam. Dean shuffles across and sits down gingerly. To his dismay, the Boss squeezes onto the seat next to Sam. He leans back and drapes his arm around Sam’s neck, forcing Sam to scoot backwards and almost cuddle into his side. Sam’s absolutely mortified.

“So. I hear you’ve been trying to rape one of my women.” The Boss shoots Dean a challenging look, tinged with amusement. Dean somehow suspects the Boss isn’t bothered by a bit of attempted rape, but will pretend he is for the sake of his reputation in the settlement.

“Is that what Jill says?” Dean asks, curious.

“That’s what Brad says, and he has my full trust.”

“Well no offense, but Brad’s an asshole, so you might want to rethink that.” Dean can feel Sam’s eyes on him, burning into him with a message he can’t read.

“Careful.” The word is quiet, and intense, but Dean can still sense an undercurrent of amusement. The Boss is playing with him, that much is clear.

“You want to hear my side of the story?” he asks, aware he needs to play along, at least for now.

“Why not.”

“I didn’t realise Jill was his girlfriend, I hit on her, he didn’t like it, he was rude, I broke his nose, he’s a dirty coward who wouldn’t fight me alone, his friends beat the shit out of me, as you can see. End of.”

Sam snorts, apparently unable to hide his amusement. The Boss tightens his arms around him, digging fingertips into his shoulders. Dean bristles.

“Well, Sam here has vouched for you. He insists that you would never do such a thing. Apparently you know my boy from way back.”

Dean narrows his good eye at the possessive title. “We’ve known each other a long time, yes.”

“Yet you’ve never come looking for him before now.”

As far as Dean is concerned, that is none of anyone’s business but Sam’s. It’s a conversation they’ll have to have eventually, but he’s certainly not going to talk about it in front of Sam’s asshole boyfriend.

“I’m here now,” he states firmly. “And frankly, that has nothing to do with Brad the asshole.”

“Yes, well. About that.” The Boss is outright smirking now. “I might believe my darling Sam, but unfortunately I don’t think that will be true of everyone else.” He shifts Sam again, running his hand down Sam’s thigh. “I appreciate you telling me your side of the story, but I’m afraid it’s your word against Brad’s and he’s been here for a lot longer.”

The Boss, like many of the evil dicks Dean has dealt with in his life, seems to like the opportunity to monologue. Dean is more trapped here than he’s ever been when dealing with monsters, and he’s stuck waiting for the man to continue. The pause drags on.

“I think that means we’re going to have to keep you locked up until we decide what happened. I can’t have a rapist running around my town, after all.”

“No,” Sam exclaims. “You promised!” He pulls out of the man’s grip, and faces him.

“I promised I’d hear his side of the story, pet. But I’m unconvinced.”

“You promised you’d keep him safe.”

“And where will he be safer than in the lockup? Best he’s kept away from Brad for now, I’m sure he’s still angry.”

Sam stands up, almost frantic. “No,” he insists. The Boss stands too, taking a step towards him, but Sam pushes his hand away.

Everything seems to speed up, then. The Boss grabs Sam’s arm, hard enough to leave yet more bruises. Sam jerks backwards, towards Dean, and the Boss grabs him again. Dean’s on his feet before he’s realised, body moving him faster than he’s moved all day. He tries to step in front of Sam, instinct ensuring that he protects his little brother as he always has, and the Boss squares up to him, towering above him. The Boss is huge, his shoulders far wider than Dean’s, a real bear of a man; but Dean’s been trained to fight his whole life and he’s not worried.

“Let go of him,” he says clearly.

The Boss laughs. “So protective of your little brother, aren’t you.” Dean gapes, thrown. ”Did you think I didn’t know? Sam’s told me all about you. In _great_ detail.” He leers. “I always wondered if you’d show up. It took so long I figured you were dead.” Sam makes a hurt little noise.

“Let go of my brother,” Dean says again.

“He might be your brother, but he’s been my boy for the last four years and he loves it.”

“Fuck you, you abusive bastard. Leave my brother alone.”

“No, I don’t think I will.”

Dean lunges forwards, his aching body propelled by adrenalin. The Boss’ first hit catches him in the face, breaking open the cut above his eye. Sam yells, incoherent behind him, but Dean pays no mind, getting in a good hit of his own to the Boss. It almost feels like it bounces off, the man is so solid; but Dean is pleased that the man is forced to take a step back, and he hits again, catching him under the chin. He thinks this might work, he might be able to knock the man out cold, grab Sammy and run, when-

“Stop,” the Boss says, pointing a gun directly at Dean. “Or rather-” He realigns the weapon, so it’s aimed directly at Sam. Dean pauses mid-kick, almost overbalancing. He’d brought his guns here with him, of course, but they’d been taken off him on his first day by Brad, and the spares are still hidden in the secret compartment in the Impala. He’s been outplayed.

“Stay right there,” the Boss reiterates. Keeping his gun trained on Sam, he picks up a walkie hidden behind one of the chairs and flicks it on. “Jose? Come back to the house, please. Dean has proved to be violent and dangerous and I need you to escort him to the lockup.”

Dean’s shoulders sag with the realisation he’s played exactly into the Boss’ hands. Jose is in the house within minutes with Steve in tow, and this time they don’t hesitate to manhandle Dean towards the door. It takes all his energy to resist long enough to turn around and look directly at Sam.

“See you soon, little brother,” he says, as he’s dragged out of the house.


	9. Chapter 9

 

The lock up is an actual prison. Not somewhere to constrain demons, like they have in Sioux Falls, because there is no warding anywhere; but an honest, actual prison for humans. Its relatively newly constructed and definitely dates from after the Reckoning, and that, for Dean, speaks volumes about the settlement he’s found Sam in.

He’s dumped in the prison and left to his own devices for the rest of the day and all through the night. Dawn has broken on a beautiful, golden California day before anyone comes back to him, and he’s thoroughly unimpressed to have been left so long without water or access to the bathroom. Combined with a night spent on a hard wooden bench, tossing and turning with worry for his brother, he’s in a foul mood.

His first visitor is the kid who had shown him to the garage his first morning. He’s since learnt he’s called Greg and he has a petty streak a mile wide.

“So,” Greg starts. “Have a good night?”

Dean resists the urge to growl; he knows Greg wants a reaction.

“I’d like to use the bathroom, please.” He forces himself to civility; if Greg is the one holding the keys he needs to lull the kid into a false sense of security.

Greg smirks at him. “I’ll get you a bucket.”

A few minutes later, a bucket is indeed tossed into the small cell along with a paltry breakfast of some of yesterdays bread and a few slices of what Dean quickly identifies as Barbara’s experimental cheese. It had not been a success, and Dean was worried he’d spend the next few days in his cell ingesting the rest of the unfortunate batch.

Greg doesn’t stick around for long after he realises Dean isn’t going to respond to his uninspired taunting. Dean’s pleased to find out Greg doesn’t seem to know he and Sam are brothers; escape will be easier if word hasn’t spread.

Dean’s relieved his lunch is brought to him not by Greg, but by Mike. He’s not exactly talkative, but at least Dean’s spared the insults. On the other hand, Mike refuses to answer all Dean’s questions, including the ones about how long he’s likely to be locked up in the prison. “Am I going to face some kind of trial, or what?” he asks angrily.

“I don’t make the rules, kid.” It’s pretty much the only answer he gets out of Mike, and he’s not exactly thrilled.

Dean’s third visitor that day is Sam.

It’s almost dark when Dean first hears the sound of someone else entering the small prison. There’s been no more food since Mike at lunchtime and no other visitors; Dean’s only companionship has been the angry grumbling of his stomach. He’s bored out of his mind; after all, there are only so many times you can run through every version of an escape plan and every possible contingency.

He’s found out, too, that he’s not getting out of the cell easily. It’s too near to the main part of the settlement for him to risk breaking the bars; if he were going to make a quick getaway he’d try, but he’d alert people to his escape long before he could get to Sam. He’s got nothing to pick the lock with; and the lone window is far too narrow for his wide shoulders. His best bet for escape is to overpower someone bringing him a meal; but he’s unwilling to try without knowing he can get to Sam, and besides, he’s still pretty beat up. He’s decided, for now, on a policy of lulling the settlement into a false sense of security until he heals a bit and has a firmer idea of what they intend to do with him.

So when he hears a new visitor, he doesn’t bother preparing to attack. He’s hoping it’s someone with dinner; he doesn’t expect his brother to slide through the door. It feels like everytime he sees Sam there are fresh marks on his brother and this time is no different; but this time the Boss has clearly lost his cool, because Sam is sporting a painful-looking black eye. Its nowhere near as bad as the the bruise still swelling Dean’s eye shut, but that’s immaterial: the man has hurt Dean’s brother. Again.

“Sammy.” Dean is off his feet immediately and pressed against the bars set into the thick metal door. He has so many questions. “How did you get in here? Did he let you out?”

Sam chuckles weakly. “No, he’s doing inventory down in the warehouse. I snuck out. I can’t stay long, Dean, he’ll freak out if I’m not there when he gets back.”

Dean tries to control his frustration at the way his brother seems to unthinkingly defer to the Boss.“This has got to stop, Sam, you know that right? He’s hurting you constantly.”

“He just wants to keep me safe.” Sam’s voice is little boy lost, and it reminds Dean of Sam as a child, begging to do something Dean felt was too risky for the most precious person in his life. With hindsight, he’s willing to admit he might have been a bit overprotective of Sam as a child.

“Sam, he’s doing the exact opposite of keeping you safe.” Sam is still hovering in the doorway, unsure, and Dean reaches through the bars towards him. “Come here and let me look at your eye.”

Sam moves towards Dean, slowly, eyes down. It feels oddly like a moment of choice, although Dean’s not sure why; it feels like one of the most important moments in his life.

Finally, Sam is within touching distance, and Dean’s soul sighs in satisfaction. He’s never been content with Sam out of reach. He rests his palm against Sam’s cheek, Sam’s eyes sliding closed contentedly. They stay like that for longer than Dean can comprehend, breathing quietly together, and Dean barely realises but Sam is inching closer until he’s pressed up against the door, as close as they can be given the circumstances. He strokes his thumb lightly under Sam’s bad eye, and Sam sighs, going almost pliant.

When Sam opens his eyes, an interminable amount of time later, he looks dazed and lost, his pupils dark. “ _Dean._ ” His voice is barely more than an exhale, and it’s changing everything. “Dean. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easy, Sammy.” Dean’s heart is pounding and his voice shakes, but he gets the important words out. “I’m always here for you, as long as you want me.”

Sam shudders against the door, and Dean curses the fact he’s locked up. He wants, needs, to hold his brother so badly.

“Sammy.” His voice is intent. “We need to leave here. I’ve got a home for us, back in Sioux Falls with Bobby. I want you to come back with me. It’s safe there, I’ll keep you safe. I promise.” Dean knows he’s echoing what Sam says about the Boss, almost competing, but he can’t help himself.

“He won’t let me go, Dean. And you say you’re here for me, but you don’t know. There are things about me you wouldn’t like. Things that would make you hate me.”

“That’s not possible, Sam. I could never hate you.”

“You would, if you knew. He knew, and he didn’t mind, but if you knew…” Sam tails off.

“Sam.” Dean is determined to get this point across. “There is nothing, past or present, that you could ever do that would make me hate you, that would make me not want to be around you. Nothing.”

“No, Dean.” Sam is shaking his head frantically. “No. Its why I left for Stanford, I couldn’t bear it any more, I couldn’t live with what you’d think about me.”

Dean is nonplussed at the thought that whatever is bothering Sam dates from before Stanford. He thought he’d known everything about Sam before the Reckoning. His face must show how puzzled he is, because Sam pulls back, obviously taking it as rejection. He reaches out and manages to get his hands back on Sam’s shoulders, and without his conscious permission, they slide up Sam’s neck to cup his face.

Dean’s head is pounding with all the feelings he’d felt back then. It feels like he’s slipping off a cliff; like he’s uncovering something dangerous that he’d buried so deep.

He remembers Sam at 14, still little, tucked under Dean's arm at every opportunity, but so, so fiesty. Then, Sam at 16, long-limbed and soft and slim, muscles showing under smooth skin and too big to hug Dean. Sam had become so insistent so quickly that they have more personal space, that they sit separately on the sofa while watching movies, that their sporadic bed sharing, from necessity or nightmares, should come to an end. Dean had been half-devastated, half-relieved, aware of the danger Sam presented. Sam at 18, telling him and Dad he was leaving for Stanford; quiet and resigned and not at all prepared for their father's explosive reaction and his angry ultimatum. Dean had taken a shaking Sam to the bus stop that night, and then cried himself to sleep, desolate with loss but underneath, aware that maybe it would save him.

Now it feels like he's back in that time before, Sam's face cradled in his hands and his eyes fixed on Dean's mouth. Dean will never know which of them moved first, but they're kissing, his mouth sliding sweetly across Sam's, awkward through the bars on the door but the best thing Dean has ever felt.

Sam gasps like he's drowning and the kiss changes, becoming frantic and desperate. Sam scratches at the door, trying blindly to get closer, and Dean becomes aware that he might be leaving bruises of his own on his brother's jaw with the way his hands have tightened. He pushes down the dark, gleeful voice in his head that wants him to mark Sam up further and pulls back gently from the kiss.

"Sam, I'm so sorry." He forces the words out. "I didn't mean to…"

Sam's face falls. "See, Dean. I told you you'd hate me."

Realisation crashes over Dean. This is what Sam had been so ashamed of; this was what the Boss knew and held over Sam.

"Fucking hell, Sammy, I don't hate you. I told you, I could never hate you, and this won't change a thing."

They smile at each other for an endless minute. Dean can feel his heart pouring out of his eyes, telling Sam everything he'd ever wanted to say, and it feels like Sam is doing the same. But Sam is Sam, so of course he feels the need to talk as well.

"Do you really feel this too, Dean? Truly?" Dean nods, feeling his treacherous face turn a bright, rosy red. "I've always felt this way. I've been so ashamed, like there's something wrong with me. It’s why I left for Stanford, I wanted to make sure you never found out."

"Well if we both feel this way, I guess there's nothing to be ashamed of." Dean is not convinced. He knows this is going to take a lot of working through from both of them, especially if the Boss had used it to control Sam, but for now, they need to accept it and move on, quickly. Sam about to argue, so Dean continues, "Come away with me, come back to Sioux Falls. We can escape, leave all this behind and start again, together."

"The Boss won't let me go. He made that pretty clear this morning, if I didn't know before."

Dean can't control his growl. "Much as I'd fucking love to make him pay for what he did to you, Sammy, the easiest way to do this is for us to leave. Pack some supplies in the Impala and make a break for it. They have no idea where I came from or where we'd be heading, we'd be able to lose them easy."

"It wouldn't be that easy, he'd try to follow. And there are angels and demons out there."

Dean suspects Sam hasn't left the settlement in years, and he knows his brother has had his confidence ripped apart by the Boss as a method of control. So he's careful in his response. "You and I, together, Sammy? Nothing can stop us. We could take down the Boss with our eyes closed, and we've tackled demons before. And angels aren't much interested in humans, they won't bother us. We'll be fine."

He's swaying Sam, he can tell. "All you gotta do is pick the lock, and we'll load up Baby and be gone by morning."

"No," Sam says firmly, and Dean's heart clenches tight. "No, now isn't the best time. We'll go. But we gotta be sensible about it. Can you trust me?" Sam’s so earnest, and so worried that Dean will say no.

"Always, Sammy." Sam's grin is, and always has been, the brightest thing in Dean's universe, and it almost hurts to look at it. He grins back, and dimly thinks they have to stop staring at each other, its wasting time.

"Ok, so here's what we should do," Sam begins.

 


	10. Chapter 10

 

Dean is stuck in the prison for two more endless days, but Sam is insistent: the best time to leave will be the evening after the Boss' management day on a Thursday. According to Sam, he always indulges a little in the whisky hidden in his house after a successful inspection, and it means he's less likely to notice Sam's absence. (Dean knew, he just knew, the Boss had a secret stash of high quality booze in that house, and if possible, it makes him hate the man even more). He's also more likely to make alcohol available to the other residents on a Thursday evening, meaning everyone will be busy making noise and having fun, and won't notice the Impala disappearing from its spot parked at the edge of the settlement.

Dean had paid a lot of attention when he was out on the supply run, and he spends the two days going over potential routes in his head, matching them against his extensive knowledge of America's roads. They'll head out a different way, he thinks; swinging up and past San Francisco. He'd talked to the other team members while on the road, asking them questions about what had happened in this part of the world after the Reckoning, and they had all assured him San Francisco was deserted and completely looted, meaning there were unlikely to be any other visitors. There are, to the best of their knowledge, no other groups of survivors in this part of California, which had explained their shock at seeing Dean. The only other beings they've seen in years have been demons, and not too many of them anymore. Apparently, the fighting has moved down to Mexico.

His other pastime during his wait has been to imagine exactly what he wants to do to Sam. A floodgate has opened in his mind, allowing him to visualise exactly every thing he's ever done or dreamed of doing with a girl, but with Sam's body underneath him instead. He's jerked off so many times he's worried he's going to get carpal tunnel syndrome, but it’s helped him whittle things down to a top ten list for when they get back to Sioux Falls. He knows they are going to have to take things slowly; he might not be the best with his emotions but it's obvious Sam's time with the Boss will have left a lot of scars for him to work through. But Dean figures they have their whole lives to get there (preferably without traumatising Bobby). He's also decided when they get back, he'll present Sam as a long-lost friend, so they can be together publically; Bobby won't like it at first, he's sure, but the old man loves them both with his whole heart and the Reckoning has helped to put a lot of the old rules into perspective. He'll point out to Bobby that at least they haven't chosen the route of Crazy Jimbo, who lives out on the edge of Sioux Falls with a small harem of goats, and that should be enough to smooth things over. (As ever, Dean can't help but snort at the thought of Crazy Jimbo and his goat-wives.)

He doesn't see Sam during those days, and that is the hardest of all. He has no way of knowing if his brother is safe, or if the Boss found out about his visit and punished him. They are by far the two most excruciating days of Dean's life.

Thursday rolls around with his usual breakfast of stale bread and runny cheese. Dean can only wonder he hasn't got the runs as a result of the poor food he's been eating; thankfully, his stomach is apparently aware of how important this week is and has remained stoic. As usual, Dean ignores Greg on his early morning visit and peppers Mike with unanswered questions at lunch. There has not been a single indication of what the Boss intends to do with him, and if Dean weren't intending to flee, it would be driving him insane. Luckily, they'll be on the road by tonight.

As dusk falls, Dean pats down his injuries, stretching and bending to understand exactly what his body will and will not do. Its one of their father's old tricks, and he always finds it helpful to have an understanding of his physical limitations. He's pleased to note everything is healing well; he can almost see out of both eyes again; but he does know he won't be able to run as fast as usual, which is fine as Sam's always been slower anyway, despite the long legs, and he won’t’ be going anywhere without Sam.

Sam slinks into the prison at around 11pm, padding softly across the floor with a hairpin and other useful lock picking tools. As Dean suspected, it only takes a couple of minutes for Sammy to unpick the mechanism and as soon as the door swings open, he pulls his little brother into his arms. Their second kiss is desperate, Sam's mouth biting at his in relief, and Dean can barely stand to put a stop to it. He pulls away with a groan.

"Plenty of time for that when we get free, Sammy. Did everything go to plan?"

"Yeah, the Impala is loaded with everything we should need. I can't believe you kept my gun, Dean."

"What else was I going to do with it?"

They beam at each other, _again_ , and they have to get to grips with this new habit.

"Come on, little brother. Let’s roll."

The feeling of sliding into the driver's seat of the Impala as Sam's folds himself into the passenger side is one Dean doesn't ever think he'll forget. Dimly, he thinks it might turn out to be the best moment of his life so far, eclipsing even finding Sammy and their first kiss. Everything is right in his world.

They keep the car slow as they pull through the edge of the settlement. Soon, they are by the main fence, which at this time on a Thursday is guarded only by two men. As discussed, Dean hops out of the car and Sam slides over into the driver’s seat. Sam hadn't wanted to hurt men he'd spent the last four years of his life living with, and Dean is more than willing to take on that burden. Gun out, he sneaks up behind them and hits the first on the back of the head with his weapon, dropping him to the ground. The second man whirls around like a flash, and of fucking course, it’s Brad.

They stare at eachother for two long seconds, before Brad opens his mouth and Dean surges forwards. Despite everything, he has no intention of killing the man, and he raises his gun hilt-first to try and knock him out. Luck is clearly with them tonight because he reaches Brad before he can shout for help, shoving his hand across the other man's mouth before cracking him on the skull. Brad gets in a desperate kick to Dean's ankle as he does, causing them both to fall with a lot more noise than Dean had hoped for.

He pauses, checking both men are unconscious. Listening carefully, there’s no suggestion they were heard, so he flicks the electronic lock mechanism on the gates and sprints back to the car. He's barely on the passenger seat before Sam releases the brake, and they roll out of the settlement as quietly as Baby is capable of being.

Drive the car down the pitch black roads without their lights on is hard work, and they take it very, very slowly. Sam is clearly out of practice driving, and as soon as they are out of sight, they switch places back to where they are supposed to be. They know that while they might be out of sight, they certainly won't be out of earshot in the silent world they now live in, so they drive slowly for over an hour before Dean feels comfortable speeding up.

But then it’s on.

He knows exactly where they should be, and he can tell from the feel of the road underneath him they have hit route 101 **.** They'd gone down this road on the supply run and Dean knows its free of wreckage, so he feels comfortable switching on his lights and pressing down the accelerator. Baby shoots forward, and Sam whoops, loud and exuberant, in the passenger seat.

"We did it Dean, we made it!" he yells, and Dean can't help it. He skids the car to a stop again, fists his little brother's t-shirt in his hands and pulls Sam in for a kiss. Sam's groan almost shakes the car, and Dean feels a dirty, powerful thrill go through him that he can wring such noises out of Sam so easily. He swears they will be exploring that later.

By necessity, the kiss is kept brief, and the Impala is soon flying down the highway again, heading north. Dean fully intends to put as much distance between them and the settlement as he can before they are forced to stop.

As expected, they skirt around San Francisco with no problems and they cross the state line into Oregon before Dean decides they need to stop and get some rest. Now he has Sam back, he has no intention of losing him again because of careless driving.

As he's looking for somewhere to stop, he spies signs for an old motel off the road. Smirking, he nods to Sam, who nods back; as ever, they rarely need words between them.

They pull the guns out before they drive into the motel forecourt, because there's no way of knowing what they'll find inside. Stepping out of the car, Dean feels Sam slot into place behind his shoulder, and they approach the building in step. Despite their precautions, the motel appears perfectly safe, and once they've hidden Baby from prying eyes, they find a room that is still intact and set about laying salt-lines and demon traps. Dean has learnt a good few enochian angel warding sigils over the years as well and he paints them onto the motel walls. Sam is fascinated by them; they are beyond anything the settlement had ever provided and Dean smiles at the sight of his bookworm little brother, always so eager to learn.

It doesn't take them long to get settled. Sam has found an old vending machine with some water and coke still left in it; neither of them have any coins, but they jimmy the machine into dispensing its bounty. Dean hasn't had coke in a couple of years and Sam apparently even longer, and it tastes like nectar.

They settle at the table, plastic glasses of cola before them. Coke is an odd thing to toast with, Dean thinks; he used to prefer his celebrations decidedly more alcoholic. But beggars can't be choosers, and so he clinks his little glass against Sam's.

"What are we toasting?" Sam asks, smiling.

"Anything you want, Sammy." Dean tries not to think about how that is going to be the motto he lives by for the rest of his life; no use in letting Sam know this early how easily Sam can wrap Dean around his little finger.

"Anything?"

"Anything."

"Ok then. To us." Sam seems a little uncertain, worried perhaps Dean will find this unnecessarily sappy. But Dean can feel an absolute well of sappiness inside himself, waiting to be tapped, so all he does is echo, "To us."

There is a moment of uncertainty when it comes to sleeping arrangements. The room they've chosen has two queens; Dean wonders if they subconsciously passed over all the king rooms out of long-ingrained habit. They haven't shared a bed since Sam was around 16; now Dean fully understands why his little brother had suddenly become so vehemently against it. But tonight he feels that if he can't immediately reach out and touch Sam, his little brother is already too far away; he'd probably feel that way even if there wasn't this new thing between them. So as they settle for a short sleep, he sits on one of the beds and pulls Sam towards him. Sam topples to the bed, surprised, but he's pliant when Dean pulls him close.

Dean flashes back to the way the Boss had pulled Sammy around like this, and goosebumps break out across his skin at the thought he could be treating Sam the same way.

"Is this ok?" he asks, anxious. The only response is Sam snuggling tighter into his side, an arm flung across his waist. Sam closes his eyes and tangles their legs together. Dean double checks under his pillow for his gun and his knife, and relaxes, letting his eyes drift shut.

As he's settling into sleep, he hears Sam says, in the softest whisper, "I missed you so much, De."


	11. Chapter 11

 

Dean has never lost the ability to wake up at will, and he prods Sam awake after a few hours sleep. He wants to get as much distance between them and the settlement-and the Boss- as possible. They're back on the road after a brief breakfast of tinned tuna and a stolen loaf of freshly baked bread, and now that it’s daylight, Dean feels free to let Baby fly down the highway.

Within a couple of hours they're out of the area the supply run had covered, into unknown land. There has been no sight of human, demon or angel, and Dean is starting to feel like this could work, like he and Sam could make it safely to Sioux Falls without any drama.

But they are of course Winchesters, and as Bobby has always said, trouble tends to find them.

Dean has kept the music off, despite his deep desire to drive to a soundtrack of Zeppelin, and so they hear it first: the distinct sound of cars coming up behind them. There are a few cars visible on the horizon, gaining ground on them. Dean guns Baby to go as fast as she can, but she's an old car and no match for what he suspects are the fastest cars the settlement owns. Slowly but steadily, the convoy draws closer, and the boys are faced with deciding what to do.

"We're not going to outrun them, Dean. And he's not going to give up."

"Its definitely them?" Dean asks, almost hoping for a gang of demons at this point.

"Its definitely them," Sam confirms.

"We're gonna have to stop and fight it out."

"I know." Sam's voice trembles slightly, and Dean would give anything to spare his little brother this showdown.

They look for somewhere to pull off the road, somewhere that will make a good defensive position, and within the next 20 miles they've found it: an old roadside diner with an indoor garage and solid walls. They pull in and hide Baby away quickly; they need easy access to her and can't risk her being stolen. Pulling out their weapons, they take up position in the diner and make sure everything is loaded, with spare ammo to hand.

It’s been awhile since Dean has done something like this, and he can feel butterflies fluttering in his stomach; so he can only imagine what Sam is feeling. He claps his brother on the shoulder, and thinks, _screw it_ , and pulls him into a hug. Drawing back, he looks Sam straight in the eye.

"I am not going to let this go wrong. I am not going to let him take you back, little brother."

"I'm not going to let him take me back either, Dean. I'm staying with you, whatever happens."

Dean almost bursts with pride at how brave Sam is.

It doesn't take long for five trucks to roar up into the diner's parking lot. The Boss strides out of the first, without pausing. His arrogance takes Dean's breath away.

"Dean," he yells. "You've got something of mine."

His men, (including Brad, Dean is unhappy to note), jump out of their trucks and fan out behind him.

Dean pops his head up from behind the bar in the diner, where he and Sam have sheltered.

"Not sure what you mean, I'm afraid," he yells back.

"You've taken my Sam," the Boss returns, unabashed.

"Oh." Dean pauses for a moment. "I wasn't aware that you could own a person. And Sam wanted to come home with me."

"Sam's home is back in California, where I've kept him safe for the past four years while you were off doing fuck knows what. Probably sleeping your way around half the survivors in the country, from what Sam tells me. So I'd like to take Sam back to his real home now please, where I can care for him and keep him safe."

Dean can barely restrain his anger. "I don't think what you did to him counts as keeping him safe." He exchanges a glance with Sam. "Maybe you'd take it better if Sam told you, but he is not going to go back with you."

Sam sets his shoulders, and stands up. Out of sight of the Boss and his men, his hand grips Dean's arm, nails digging angry crescents into the skin.

"Dean's right. My home is with him, and I won't be going back. So thank you for coming to see I'm safe, but we'd like to continue on our way now."

His hand moves down Dean's arm and they are holding hands, an unseen gesture of togetherness.

"Sammy," the Boss croons. "I'm so glad you're safe. I've always kept you safe, haven't I?" Sam doesn't respond, so he continues, "It’s time for you to come home now, Sammy."

"Only he gets to call me that," Sam spits, and Dean feels a rush of possessiveness so strong it almost makes him sway.

"Your brother?" The Boss mocks. "Does he know how you feel about him? Does he know all the dirty, filthy things you told me you want to do with him?"

Dean hates that this hideous, abusive man has used the love he and Sam have always shared, whether brotherly or more, to control Sam. He sees Sam deflate beside him, thrown back into the shame he'd felt for years, so he stands up taller to shield his brother.

"I know exactly how Sam feels about me. It’s true that I don't know all the dirty, filthy things he wants to do in any great detail, but the sooner we get home the sooner we can start doing them. So as we said, we'd like to be on our way." With that, he pulls Sam towards him and kisses him soundly.

The Boss roars with rage and starts towards them, but stumbles as the ground shakes. Dean belatedly notices stormclouds have gathered around them, faster than should be possible, and now, the air shrieks.

"Demons," he yells. A plume of black smoke splits off from the stormcloud in front of them, and hurtles towards the diner. The shrill noise filling the air gets more intense, forcing Dean and everyone else to cover their ears. "Angels!" he mouths at Sam.

They take shelter under the bar, for all the good that will do them. Dean draws a hasty circle of salt around them to protect from demons, but nothing he knows will keep angels away. Multiple crashes sound outside the diner, and he can hear screams from the Boss and his men, followed by the urgent revving of car engines.

The next hour is an exercise in keeping still and hidden. Despite everything, it seems they have accidentally stumbled onto a battlefield, and the two sides warring outside are showing little interest in the humans around them. They curl together inside their protective circle, holding each other's ears and burying their heads in each other’s necks. Sam's heart is pounding against Dean's chest and he's sure his own feels the same.

The earsplitting shrieking starts to die off after a couple of hours, and they eventually decide it’s safe to have a look outside. A couple of the Boss' men lie dead on the floor, but the cars are gone and the majority of the men seemed to have escaped inside them. There are deep craters surrounding the diner, smoking gently from whatever supernatural weapons the two sides had used in their never-ending war. Dean's knees buckle with relief when he sees the garage is still standing, with Baby safe inside.

They pull their ancient pair of binoculars out of the trunk and scan the area, but there is no sign of any angels or demons, and they conclude the fight has moved on to a new battlefield. Dean knows they should stay to burn the bodies of the Boss' men (neither he nor Brad are among the dead and Sam doesn't seem to be too shaken up when he realises their identities) but he thinks grimly that as the Boss brought them out into this dangerous no-man’s land, he can return to do the honours.

Shaking with adrenalin, they jump into the Impala and drive away, keen to put the carnage around the diner behind them.

They drive for longer that night, and only pull off the side of the road into some trees to sleep in the car. Its far from ideal, because it means they can't curl up together while they sleep and Dean had promised himself he'd do that every single night for the rest of their lives; but they're both keen not to draw down any unnecessary attention.

The next morning dawns misty and damp, and they set off with aching bodies. Normally, that would be enough to make Dean grouchy, especially given their meagre breakfast, but he couldn't be happier. He finally feels like they’ve made it away, that they've outdistanced all pursuit.

It’s a good couple of days drive still to Sioux Falls, but he has a full tank of gas, Zeppelin on his stereo and Sam beside him, and life literally could not be better.

So to say he's pissed off when he realises they are still being pursued by a single car is an enormous understatement.


	12. Chapter 12

 

"Dean, Dean," Sam says frantically, turning the music off and jolting Dean out of his happy daydreams.

"What's up?"

Sam cranes around in his seat and points out of the car window. Dread growling in his stomach, Dean pulls up. A black car is clearly visible behind them on the straight road, and as it had before, it’s gaining on them fast.

"What the fuck!" he yells, slamming his hands down on the steering wheel.

"It’s him, Dean, I know its him. I told you he wouldn't let me go." Sam's scared, and with good reason, Dean thinks. The Boss is proving to be dangerously obsessed and Dean is rapidly coming to the realisation there is no way for this to not end bloody.

"We're gonna have to end this properly, Sammy, you know that, right?" Sam’s miserable, hiding again beneath his shaggy fringe. Dean resolves it will be him, Sam's big brother, who ends this, and he will finish it today. "Let’s find a good place to stop."

For the second time in two days, they drive along looking for a good defensive position, but this road is heavily wooded and there are no signs of previous habitation. A couple of unmarked roads veer off to either side, but Dean is unwilling to take them without having an idea of what they'll find. Eventually they decide they just need to stop on the main road and wait.

It doesn't take long for the Boss to catch up, and as he drives up, its clear he's alone. _At least he sent his men back to safety_ , Dean thinks; _or maybe all of them died._ He stops his car a short distance away from the boys and gets out, hands raised. He doesn't appear to have a gun, but Dean will only trust in that when the man is driving away from them.

"Boys," he starts. "I'm going to give you one last chance. Sam, come home with me. Dean, fuck off back to wherever you crawled out of."

His voice has changed now; gone is the leery, mocking tone he's used since Dean met him, replaced by pure venom. There is no sign of injury on the man; his face is unmarked and he moves easily as he approaches the Winchesters, and Dean gives up on hope number one: that the Boss had been seriously weakened by the battle yesterday.

"I'm not going back with you," Sam states firmly. "My home is with Dean. It’s always been with Dean and it will always be with Dean."

"Always," the man mocks, vicious. "Always, even when you were begging me on your knees? Even when you were screaming as I made you come?"

Sam flushes, but he's resolute. "Always. I was always, always, always thinking of Dean. Every time you touched me, every time you kissed me, I always imagined it was Dean. It was the only way I could get through it."

"Bullshit," the man mocks. "absolute rubbish, Dean. Don't believe him. I can't begin to count the amount of times he came screaming my name. Did you know he likes it to hurt? Did you know little brother will give it up every time as long as you promise to hurt him?"

Dean clenches his fists against his sides but he wants Sam to deal with this, because it will give him closure and more importantly, enable him to rebuild his battered self-esteem.

"Doesn't matter," Sam insists. "I was still always thinking of Dean. There's no me without Dean."

Dean can't think of anything Sam could have said that would be sweeter. They've always been unhealthily tangled up in each other; first their father and then Bobby had tried to separate them and give them different interests, but it had never worked. He can't think of a better way to describe himself: there's no Dean without Sam.

"You'll come back with me, Sam, or there will be no Dean at all." The Boss pulls a gun from his waistband and trained it on Dean, who is nearer to the car and their weapons. "Come on, Sam," he gestures with his head, "Hop into the car."

"No." But Sam’s frantic now, and reaches for his own gun.

"Uh uh, do that and I'll shoot him before you've aimed. You're out of practice, kid, and I doubt you were ever a good shot anyway, so why take the chance?"

"He was a fucking great shot," Dean spits, furious.

"Shut up, if you want to live."

Dean feels hopeless. They've somehow let the Boss get the jump on them, and he doesn't know how to salvage the situation without risking Sam. He doesn't care about his own life , would throw himself in front of his brother in a heartbeat, but he has got accustomed to the idea of a life with Sam over the last couple of days and he's keen to experience it.

"In the car, Sam," the Boss reiterates.

The standoff is broken by the fluttering of wings, and two men appear by the car. The first, Dean notes, is blond and wearing a t-shirt with the deepest v-neck Dean has ever seen; the second is his polar opposite, dressed in a long trench coat, and looking deeply perplexed.

The Boss takes his chance while they are distracted, and fires at Dean. Luckily, his aim isn’t nearly as good as Sam’s, and he hits Dean on the outside of his thigh; not a life-threatening hit but a very, very painful one. He darts forward to grab Sam, trying to pull him back towards the truck, but Sam resists, hitting out wildly at the Boss as he tries to run back to Dean.

A voice booms out, “You will not hurt the reserve vessels.” Despite the noise, the Boss is unmoved; he continues to drag Sam towards his car. “No,” says the voice, again; and the Boss is shoved to the ground by an invisible force, freeing Sam to run over to Dean.

“Sam Winchester. Dean Winchester.”

Through the haze of pain, Dean sometimes wonders if his life can get any more bizarre. “Who wants to know?” he asks.

“We do, obviously,” the trench-coated one growls. Dean’s in too much pain to control his reactions and he can’t help but roll his eyes.

The other one catches him. “Don’t roll your eyes at us, you hairless ape. We’re angels, and we can smite you just like that.” He clicks his fingers.

“Balthazar, you promised we would not hurt them,” the other one rumbles. “If they truly are the Winchesters.”

That sounds a lot more promising to Dean, so he pipes up quickly to confirm that yes, they are in fact the Winchesters.

“What is happening here, Dean Winchester?” the growly one asks. “Why did this man shoot you?”

Dean exchanges a glance with Sam, but sees no reason to lie. “He was threatening to kill me unless Sam went with him.”

“Sam Winchester, did you want to go with this man?”

Sam’s startled to be directly addressed by an angel, but quickly confirms, “No, I absolutely did not. I want to stay with Dean.”

The angel turns towards the Boss, who has been slowly backing towards the dubious safety of his truck.

“You were trying to separate them? You wanted to separate the reserve vessels? Do you not understand they are soulmates, destined to share their lives?” His tone is accusatory, and Dean is glad he is not the one being questioned. Despite his odd appearance and strange way of speaking, the angel gives off an aura of immense power.

Apparently the Boss’ arrogance is undaunted by the unexpected appearance of angels, because he doesn’t hesitate to answer. “Sam made a commitment to me, and I want him to come home. He belongs with me, not his brother.”

Balthazar laughs deeply. “Good luck with that,” he says.

“Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester,” says trenchcoat, “Has this man hurt you before?”

They look at each other, hesitating; and that’s apparently confirmation enough.

“You hurt the reserve vessels. There must be consequences.”

“I hurt Sam because he was mine, and he asked for it, every time.”

“Bullshit!” Dean interrupts angrily.

“Sam Winchester, is this true?” The angel looks deeply at Sam, and Sam shudders. Dean has the uncomfortable impression the angel is rifling through his brother’s mind. “It is not true. Sam Winchester did not ask to be hurt.”

The Boss should be cowering in front of the angel’s wrath, Dean thinks, but apparently he’s too stupid, or too obsessed. “He loved it,” he insists.

“I did not,” Sam replies, from his spot on the floor next to Dean.

“You hurt both the replacement vessels, and you do not show any remorse. Balthazar, there must be consequences. We should act.”

“I agree,” the other angel says lazily. “This one is scum. He will do the same thing again, and again and again. He does not plan to let the Winchesters leave.”

“We are agreed, then?”

“We are.”

And with that, the angel strides forward and lays his hand on the Boss’ forehead, and Boss crumples to the floor, eyes burnt out and his brain smoking through the holes in his skull.

“Why do you keep calling us reserve vessels?” Sam asks some time later, as he watches the angel lay his hands on Dean’s leg to heal him.

“Because that is what you are.”

“Yes, but what does that mean?”

“You’ll have to excuse Castiel,” Balthazar says. “He’s a brilliant military strategist, but he can be quite literal sometimes.” Sam and Dean stare at him, waiting for him to continue.

“Oh very well,” he says. “I see its storytime.” He drapes himself dramatically over a nearby rock. “Listen up, and listen well, little hairless apes, because I won’t be repeating myself. When the Apocalypse began a few years ago - your _Reckoning_ , there were two men destined to be the vessels for the two most powerful players, Michael and Lucifer, representing the two sides of the war. They were needed so Michael and Lucifer could walk on earth among you. But God is great, apparently, so he made two back-up vessels in case the first two refused: you two.”

Dean has absolutely no idea what to say to that, and apparently neither does Sam. “So what, it was like, our _destiny_ , to become angel suits if your plan A hadn’t worked out?”

Castiel’s non-plussed, but Balthazar nods. “Exactly.”

“Yeah, no thanks. I don’t believe in destiny.” Balthazar seems to find this funny, and he has possibly the most patronising laugh in the world, Dean thinks.

“You must believe,” Castiel insists. “It almost came to pass.”

Dean shakes his head. “So if we weren’t needed for your infernal plan, why are you here? Not that we’re not grateful…” he hastens to add, shooting a sidelong glance at the body cooling on the ground.

“Had you been required, I would have been the angel to guide you, to ensure you were ready,” Castiel intones.

“And though that didn’t come to pass, Cassie was curious. He wanted to know what you were like.”

“I wanted to know you were safe, even though you are technically not my responsibility.”

“Well, we’re a lot safer than we were a few minutes ago, so thanks,” Sam offers, smiling shyly up at the angel. He doesn’t get a smile in return, just Castiel cocking his head to one side in consideration.

“I am impressed with your mind, Sam Winchester. I will try to make sure that you are always safe, and your soulmate too.” He lays his hand on Sam’s head, and Sam shudders, almost in pain.

“What did you do?” Dean demands.

“Warded him against angels. And demons too. It will help to keep you safe.”

“Um, thanks,” Sam replies.

Castiel walks over to Dean, and before he can protest he feels a searing pain shoot through him, gone almost before he can process it.

“Right, this has all been very nice,” Dean growls, a little sarcasm creeping into his voice. “But I’d like to get back on the road.”

“Of course,” Castiel agrees. “We must also be on our way. I believe there is a battle happening...where, Balthazar?”

“Near Rome,” the other angel replies. “I do love Rome.”

And with a fluttering of wings, the angels are gone.

It’s late by the time Sam and Dean get back on the road, but neither of them want to linger near the Boss’ cooling body. Neither of them want to take the time to bury it either; Dean doesn’t think he deserves the courtesy and Sam wants to be as far away from him as possible.

Dean can’t deny how much better he feels once they are back in the Impala, side by side. There is no lingering pain from whatever the angel Castiel had done to them, and he can sense a lightness in Sam greater than when they had first escaped the settlement.

They’ll have to swing east soon, to head towards South Dakota, but for now they find themselves driving into the setting sun, golden rays covering them both in warmth. Baby starts with her usual growl, and within moments, Dean feels Sam’s hand sneak across the bench seat and clasp his own. He squeezes back, never wanting to let go.


	13. Chapter 13

****

 

**Epilogue: 12 years later**

Sam watches as Dean fiddles under Baby’s hood. There’s a long line of other cars, trucks, small kitchen appliances, furnaces and other ratty, aging machines waiting to be fixed, but Baby always comes first. She’s outlasted most of the remaining cars in Sioux Falls, and despite her coming up to her 50th birthday, Dean’s determined she’ll outlive them all.

Sam can’t help but smile as Dean asks him to hand across a wrench, because still, after all these years, Sam manages to give him the wrong one. Dean might have become Sioux Falls resident mechanic and handyman, but Sam had never been good at the practical stuff. Instead, he and Bobby had worked tirelessly on how to keep their small town safe from the ongoing battle between Heaven and Hell until Bobby’s passing five years ago. Now Sam is the one the residents of Sioux Falls visit when they need a spell, or to renew their warding; it’s a terrifying responsibility, but one he’s grown into.

That’s what he’s supposed to be doing now; reading up on an angel-proofing sigil in a new book one of their supply teams had brought in, but he can’t help but be distracted by his brother. Dean’s bent over the hood of the car, and as if he knows he’s being watched, he keeps wiggling his ass invitingly. Despite the fact it’s been twelve years since they got together, the passion that burns between them has never dimmed and Sam’s finding it impossible to concentrate.

“Stop it, Dean,” he says, laughing. “You’ve got work to do, I’ve got work to do and you know where this is going to end up.”

“Oh yeah, where’s that little brother?” Dean doesn’t deny he’s been teasing Sam.

“Somewhere that will scandalise Mrs O’Hara when she turns up for her stove in a few minutes.”

Dean sighs, loudly. “Oh yeah. Mrs O’Hara.”

While it had taken some time for Bobby to accept their new relationship, the rest of Sioux Falls had never known Sam and Dean were brothers and had readily accepted the town’s most in-love couple. It still doesn’t mean anyone has enjoyed the few times they’ve been caught fooling around (or worse, that one time after the Christmas party out in the alley with Sam on his knees) and Sam’s not keen to repeat the experience.

It had taken Sam a long time to fully come to terms with what the Boss had put him through and Dean had been endlessly patient, but since then they’ve spent every spare moment finding out how to push each other’s buttons. It turns out Sam does like being hurt, in a controlled way, and it had taken Dean a long time to understand both that it was something healthy for Sam and that he wasn’t repeating the Boss’ abusive patterns.

They’d also discovered that they both really, really got off on the whole brothers thing, but of course that was something they could only indulge in when they were absolutely sure they were alone - unlike now when Mrs O’Hara was due any second.

“I guess we’ll have to shelve that for later, then,” Dean says, winking at him. Sam’s brother has aged, of course, but it feels like he’s become more and more handsome every year (and Sam is fully aware he’s not the only one in town who thinks so). Sam has never let go of his little brother possessiveness over Dean and once or twice he’s been moved to actually growl at some of Sioux Falls’ more persistent ladies.

“I guess so. Don’t forget Jody is coming around for dinner tonight as well.”

This time, Dean’s groan is so dramatic he fake-falls to the floor, hand dabbing at his forehead in mock distress. “Fucking hell, Sammy, how long am I going to have to wait to get at that ass?”

“Until at least 11 o’clock,” Sam says mercilessly, happy to get in some teasing of his own. “Probably more like midnight. You know what Jody’s like when she comes for dinner.”

Dean groans again, although the truth is they both thoroughly enjoy Jody’s company, and if she stays late, it will be because they’re all having a good time.

“My ass will still be there later,” he adds.

Life now is a far cry from the first couple of years Sam had lived in Sioux Falls. Back then, life had been precarious, the town always on the watch for battles or for rogue demons. But it’s been literally years since they faced any danger, or they lost anyone on a supply run, and the town has learnt how to survive and thrive in the new world they’ve found themselves in. Often, Sam wonders how much that’s down to the influence of Castiel and his promised protection - at long last, signs suggest the angels are winning the war, which hopefully means their protection won’t disappear. It’s not something Sam spends time worrying about though - he’s learned to live life in the moment.

“I’ll always love your ass, Sammy,” Dean says, smiling fondly at him.

Dean’s never been good with words or big declarations; Sam can count the number of “I love yous’ he's heard over the past twelve years on one hand and still have fingers left. But he knows that statements like this are Dean’s way of telling him he’s loved and valued and the most precious thing in Dean’s universe, all without having to say the actual words.

“I’ll always love your ass, too, Dean,” he replies.

**Author's Note:**

> Come check out my [Tumblr](https://soy-em.tumblr.com/).


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